


serendipity

by slytherinne_ambition



Series: erlebnisse [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Distractions, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grieving, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Konoha tries to help, M/M, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Sasuke Gets Therapy, Sasuke learns fuuinjutsu, Somewhat Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Uchiha Sasuke Has Issues, Uchiha Sasuke-centric, and he has to kill his brother in the future, in order to temporarily forget that his whole clan is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27909382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinne_ambition/pseuds/slytherinne_ambition
Summary: serendipity(n.) the effect by which one accidentally stumbles cross something truly wonderful especially while looking for something unrelated—(“Distractions are bad, Sasuke,” Father admonishes him coldly, when he finds Sasuke playing instead of practicing his katas. “Focus.”)(“It’s good to focus on a goal,” Mother tells him, brushing through his hair, “but having distractions are good, too. They will help you learn new things and enjoy life. Sometimes,” she says, something in her eyes when she looks at him. “Sometimes, it’s good to distract yourself.”)Sasuke turns, unfurls a scroll, and reads.
Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke & Aburame Shino, Uchiha Sasuke & Hatake Kakashi, Uchiha Sasuke & Uchiha Fugaku, Uchiha Sasuke & Umino Iruka
Series: erlebnisse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043700
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	1. o. foreword

**serendipity**

_in the morn, we wake_

_to change and sate a curiosity_

_and there, everything starts—_

_the most wonderful serendipity._   
  


TW: Violence, Blood, Self-Depreciating Thoughts, (Unintentional) Self-Harm, Somewhat Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Grieving, Passive Suicidal Ideation

If you are sensitive to the following, please turn around and close this fic. You are a very beautiful and loved person. Please love yourself.

  
DISCLAIMER: No, I do not own Naruto nor do I own the characters in the anime. If I was, everything would be a bit more depressing. I do, however, own this fic, and if anyone tries to steal it, I will cry and possibly sue whoever that is.


	2. i. metanoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are four hundred and eighty-two houses in the compound. What Sasuke is looking for there, he doesn’t know.

_i_. metanoia

(n.) a journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life

There are four hundred and eighty-two houses in the compound. They litter around the place, not quite perfectly arranged, but organized enough to be categorized in four different sections. One section is composed of the outskirts of the compound, a commercial area that is purely created for business and trade. Another is the outer part of the compound, composed of the Police Force and shinobi— a well-meaning defensive system. The third is the inner part of the compound, where the members of the clan dwell in and cohabitate with each other. The last section, the core of the compound, is merely a single house, the place where the clan head and his family lives in.

Sasuke thinks that it’s flattering and degrading at the same time. The main family is the core, and therefore the most valuable, made to lead and rule. If, he adds in the quiet of his own mind, there’s a clan to even lead and command.

There are four hundred and eighty-two houses in the compound. Some houses are joint and are counted as one, so the exact number of houses couldn’t be computed or counted. In those houses, a thousand and a hundred twenty-four people live, more than three fourths of them shinobi or part of the Police Force.

All of them are dead, of course, lying in their graves by the Naka Shrine. Their corpses weren’t even given the proper burial rites; their headstones did not have their names and parting message carved with fire. They were just buried, like another number in an unfortunate accident. They were just referred to as the casualties of a massacre, ignoring who they were and could have been.

Sasuke wonders what would have happened if he was part of those casualties. An entire clan made extinct by the hands of their own heir, an heir who murdered his family and stabbed through his parents and halved their bodies and showed his little brother how he had done them, how he had slit his cousins’ throats and pierced his uncles’ hearts and—

Sasuke then wonders what would’ve happened if the massacre hadn’t occurred in the first place, if all of this was just a horrible nightmare. Alluring, he thinks, how wonderful it would be to not have murders replaying over and over again in his head.

Mother would have been horrified at his line of thinking. She would hug him and comfort him and soothe him to a peaceful sleep. Father would be disappointed ( _was there a time wherein Fugaku wasn’t disappointed in him?_ ) for letting all of this affect him that much. Or he would not be— it was difficult to judge.

Whatever. Sasuke doesn’t care anymore. He hasn’t cared ever since he woke up in a hospital with a brand in his name and an emptiness in his chest. It was hard to feel, sometimes. It was hard to feel anything other than the constant ache for something else, than the longing for the past to return. It was even hard to feel distinctly humane.

Silently, he curls in a corner in Shisui’s house— because it was the only house that didn’t reek of blood and reminded him of what he had lost in the span of a night. He curls in there, the ticking of a grandfather’s clock in his ears, and loses all sense of time.

( _Sasuke cares. He cares very much. But sometimes it just gets too much, the grief and pain and agony were just too much, that pretending not to care was better than caring at all._ )

{ **metanoia** }

There are four hundred and eighty-two houses in the compound. Sasuke’s in the fourth one, judging from the way he’s been counting. He steps inside, keeping his eyes away from the wooden floorboards, knowing that he’d spot blood on the corners and edges. There’s a pot of viand in the table; there are even plates and utensils there.

He ignores the smell of rotten vegetables and meat, and ignores the ants and bugs crawling on the abandoned food. He steps around the line of ants, scurrying away. He moves to the kitchen, swallowing back the vile that threatens to rise to his throat.

Entering there was a mistake. Sasuke could see the bloodstains along the counters and the sink, brown and dry. He could see blood at the edges of the tiles and floorboards; he could smell the scent of it from where he’s standing. He could almost imagine a corpse leaning there, throat slit and gradually decaying.

He stumbles back, disturbing the bugs working for their food. He could feel something bite at his feet but he doesn’t care. He clamps a hand over his mouth, nearly keeling over to vomit. He breathes in heavily and, without a second thought, he runs away.

{ **metanoia** }

Aunt Hisako’s house is less trauma-inducing, more effectively cleaned. There’s no sign of an unfinished dinner or leftover food, but there are plates at the sink, waiting to be washed. Despite knowing that the floor is as clean as the walls, Sasuke keeps his eyes from straying there, more as a precaution and a habit.

He remembers visiting there often. Hisako was an elderly woman, a baker and a chef who owned a lovely restaurant in the outskirts. More often than not, she does the baking from the solace of her own house, only checking on the restaurant once in a while. ( _She died in her own house, baking, doing the thing that she loved the most._ ) Sasuke finds her trademark bread in the storage room, some of them stale and the others already expired.

He forces himself to take the tomato-flavored bread— in a wrapped basket, because Aunt Hisako was supposed to give it to him as a present for topping his class yet again— he had asked her to make, pouting and pleading until he got his way. They’re already stale, not yet moldy, but on the way there. He bites on one, swallowing it quickly. It tastes like a past long gone, a memory that he had taken for granted. ( _Sasuke wished he had savored every meal she made for him._ )

Little Akai and Aki lived just further down the main family’s house. They were identical twins, practically inseparable. They were attached at the hip, refusing to do anything without the other. Sasuke once played with the both of them, and had been a witness of more than three tantrums.

Sasuke was two years and a half month older than them. ( _They were only five when they died, lying quietly in their backyard, where the three of them used to play._ ) Their mother jokingly considered him as their godfather. His own mother had laughed when Second Aunt Nako told her that, and encouraged them to do so. Sasuke had protested at that time, because “godfather” just seemed so old. ( _Sasuke wished he hadn’t._ )

Uncle Fuyu’s house is along the outskirts and the outer area of the compound. It’s by the wall serving as defense for the compound, sometimes acting as a safe post. Fuyu himself had been a retired jonin, earning money from smithing and creating jewelry. He’d given Sasuke a bracelet once, when he was five. It was made from bluish metal, with the Uchiha crest and runestones. He called it a bracelet for luck, patting Sasuke’s head affectionately when he took the jewelry into his hands and admired it.

He’d shown Sasuke how to forge a sword, each time he visits. He taught him how to differentiate alloys of metal, which were good for a weapon and which were good for jewelry. He let Sasuke tinker around with the equipment, guiding him to create a crude sword, proudly presenting it to Fugaku with an air of satisfaction. ( _Sasuke wished he had taken those lessons to heart._ )

Then there was Cousin Jin and Emi, both craftsmen who created pots and vases to artworks and paintings. There was also Uncle Takeru and Aunt Natsuki, and many more relatives who’d greeted him during his birthdays and gave him gifts during the holidays. They offered him advice and comforted him and patted his head when he was feeling down.

( _They asked him, “Wasn’t Itachi already a chuunin at your age?”_ )

( _They told him, “Oh? At the top of your class? Just like Itachi, huh? Fugaku sure is lucky.”_ )

( _“Good job, Sasuke-kun!” they said, but Sasuke only heard the opposite._ )

( _Try harder, his mind translates, whispering to him. Try harder._ )

Sasuke breathes, clutching a bracelet in his hands. He closes his eyes, and wills the memories away.

{ **metanoia** }

Sasuke doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Each step inside a house is agony, further emphasizing the hole in his chest. Is he punishing himself? Is he trying to find something in there? Is he trying to escape? Perhaps he is; he doesn’t quite know.

He just does it, entering places where he finds little mementos of himself, both in materials and memories. He picks up a teddy bear, worn out and frayed at the edges. It was Mother’s first gift to him, and when he’d grown tired of it, it was given to his cousin. In his arms, he carries a picture frame and an album. He fits the teddy bear in his loose hold, and leaves the Cousin Kato’s house.

He wanders back to his home, where he’d collected items he remembers. He sidesteps the area where his father’s and mother’s blood pooled, the wood darkened and stained. It hurts to even look at it now, a remembrance of everything that transpired. Of everything that could’ve been.

He winds up in his room, the only place where he feels safe, after barricading it. It wouldn’t protect him from shinobi attacks, but having the door locked gives him a semblance of privacy and security. As such, he locks door on his way in, stepping into the middle of a circle of items he painstakingly collected. He looks at them blankly, his mind trying to process each and every one of them. He huddles the teddy bear close to his chest, and with a blanket covering him, he feels like a child all over again.

But Sasuke is a child, isn’t he? He’s only seven years old, a child by all means.

But Sasuke is no longer a child, isn’t he? He’s lost his family in the span of a night— his father, his mother, his uncles and aunts and cousins and everyone— all at the hands of his brother. He’s too well-acquainted with death that a child’s innocence is long gone.

No matter what it is, Sasuke doesn’t care. He’d told himself before, right? He no longer cares, because he’s hurting and it’s difficult to care when you’re hurting.

( _When Sasuke was four, he refused to sleep without Mr. Teddy. He hugged the bear, which dwarfed him in size, and Mother looks at him with a smile. Mother had taken him into her arms and sung a lullaby, caressing his hair with a love only she can possess for him._ )

“A canary sings,” he whispers into the air, “a cradle song.”

Only silence answers him.

“Sleep, sleep,” his voice breaks, “sleep, child.”

When the first tears start to fall, he brushes them away. He pulls the teddy bear closer to him, rubbing furiously at his eyes. He tries to stop it, trying to think of something else other than the loss, but the tears keep on coming. Finally, he buries his head into his knees and cries.

{ **metanoia** }

Sasuke wakes up with a heavy weight on his body. He throws the blanket off, gasping for breath. His limbs are trembling as he brushes his hair out of his eyes, the tremors unwilling to stop even if he stills his hands. He breathes in and out slowly, starting to speak to himself in quivering whispers.

“Y... You’re Sasuke U... Uchiha,” he tells himself, “You’re a... alone. Y... You’re lonely.”

“B... But you’ll be a... alright,” he whispers to himself firmly. “You will be alright.”

When? a part of him whispers.

Sasuke doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He just knows that he’ll be alright.

( _He will be, right?_ )

{ **metanoia** }

Sasuke strays into the training grounds, kunai and shuriken still imbedded on the targets. He swallows and tries not to think of bodies being pierced by blades and a sword stabbing through them. He breathes, reaching out for a pack of kunai. He readies himself and his aim, stilling his hand as he tries to throw—

( _Aunt Hisako is looking at you in disbelief and shock. Her body slides down on the ground, a hole in her chest. Her eyes remain open, staring into empty space._

_Cousin Kato points a chokuto at you, the blade heating up, glowing a hot red-orange. You parry the attack easily and slice your cousin’s neck._

_Uncle Takeru is shouting at you, elderly bones and stature hiding two little children behind. He holds a bo staff at the ready, something akin to desperation and determination in his eyes. You throw a kunai at him as a distraction, rushing forward to cleave your uncle’s head off._

_Two children, little Akai and little Aki, cower before you. Little Akai stands before his brother, arms wide open and yells at you. Little Aki stands behind his brother, trying to pull him away, trying to get him to run. You don’t hesitate and bring your blade down on both of them, blood spattering on the ground._

_Aunt Natsuki cries and begs you to spare her children. She looks at you and pleads and beseeches, because they’re just three and two, barely conscious of the world. You slit her throat coldly and go after her running children, ignoring her dying pleas._

_Uncle Fuyu gazes at you as your sword pierces his chest. He stares into your eyes and asks— “Why?”_ )

Sasuke drops the kunai like hot charcoal. Within a second, he’s on the ground, hands clamped on his ears and vision wavering. He doesn’t want to close them, already knowing what he’d see. He doesn’t want to open them either, with the kunai and targets just in his line of sight, reminding him of that night.

Arms are around him, and he holds them like a lifeline, his face wet and his chest heaving with every breath. He cries and cries and asks why— why did that man kill his family? Why kill every person that cared and loved him? Why leave him with all this memories and nightmares?

Why spare him?

A voice speaks to him, asking him to follow something. He hears the sound of breathing, carefully measured and slow. He tries to follow it, but panic and fear and getawaygetawaygetaway is still ingrained into his bones that it’s difficult to even breathe.

( _“It’s all to test my prowess,” Brother— no, not Brother, no longer Brother— tells him, his voice flat._ )

( _“Cling to your miserable life.” He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to. He’s too tired and too young and too hurt—_ )

Faintly, he registers a curse, but his hearing is so muddled that it might as well be his imagination. A hand hits his neck and Sasuke’s almost grateful for it. He succumbs to the oncoming darkness, the whirl of emotions finally subsiding.

{ **metanoia** }

When Sasuke wakes up, he’s alone again.

Figures, he thinks. The ANBU rarely interact with him face-to-face, and when they do, Sasuke’s too caught up in his own mind to even look at their masks. He ignores the throbbing in his head, getting up with slight difficulty.

He pads to the living room, freezing as he spots the case of kunai lying beside the door, carefully arranged. He wipes clammy hands on his shirt, focusing on his breathing and heart rate.

He has to train soon, or else he’ll end up as a disappointment again. He could almost hear Father’s voice in his head, telling him to focus instead of wallowing in his thoughts. Sasuke has to. He just has to do it, no matter what he feels.

But he... he can’t.

There’s heavy weight on his shoulders as he turns his back to the doorway, a refusal to train. A refusal to get better.

( _“Distractions are bad, Sasuke,” Father admonishes him coldly, when he finds Sasuke playing instead of practicing his katas. “Focus.”_ )

( _“It’s good to focus on a goal,” Mother tells him, brushing through his hair, “but having distractions are good, too. They will help you learn new things and enjoy life. Sometimes,” she says, something in her eyes when she looks at him. “Sometimes, it’s good to distract yourself.”_ )

Sasuke turns, picking up the scrolls he gathered from the library. He unfurls one and reads, focusing on the characters instead of the kunai lying on the doorway.

{ **metanoia** }

The signs of Katon: Goukakyuu are: snake, tiger, boar, horse and tiger. Sasuke had learned and mastered it at age six, taking a week to perform it without the slightest of mistakes. The average amount of time a shinobi needs to learn a new technique ranges from a week to two. Granted, Sasuke may have been a beginner with little to no experience molding his chakra, but the fact he lands along the line of average and above average is enough to disappoint him.

( _Fugaku looks at him in disappointment. The silent “I expected better from you.” rings, not spoken aloud but in Sasuke’s head._ )

( _Fugaku had always expected Sasuke to be like Itachi, but Sasuke is Sasuke, and he’s only average._ )

( _But, a traitorous part of him protests, isn’t it better that he’s not Itachi? That he’s not the man who slaughtered his own family in cold blood?_ ) 

Sasuke shakes his head, trying to return to the scroll he’s reading. It was pretty well known that Kato was more of a researcher than a shinobi, but it was never spoken how much of a genius he was. Sasuke rereads a paragraph, wondering idly what Kato would’ve achieved if he wasn’t murdered.

Just read, he tells himself.

_06.07_

_The average amount of time a shinobi needs to learn a new technique ranges from a week to two. (Source: experimentation with academy students, genin and chuunin) Further research indicates that the main problem lies in the shaping of chakra._

_Hypothesis: if the shaping can be done quickly, the amount of time needed to learn a new technique can be shortened to three to five days._

Sasuke blinks, rereading it for the third time. Interesting, he muses, moving over to the next entry.

_06.10_

_Research suggests that the solution is fuuinjutsu. Experimentation will be put on hold until the researcher is capable of chuunin-level fuuinjutsu._

The entries halt there. The next pages of the logbook are blank. Kato must’ve been studying fuuinjutsu, Sasuke realizes, but he died before he even finished his research. His hands falter as he closes the logbook, finding that he finished reading every material that he had brought to his room.

Clumsily getting up, he brushes dust off of his pants. His mind is quiet, the torment of murder and loss temporarily stamped down in favor of his budding curiosity. Sasuke notes to continue reading, as it halts the memories and prevents it for a short period of time.

Fuuinjutsu. Sealing techniques. Sasuke had heard of it when he was younger, referred to as impossibly difficult to perform. He recalls asking his father for materials to sate his curiosity, but Fugaku had only looked at him with a raised eyebrow and Sasuke took back his request. He was a child who didn’t know anything, he remembers thinking to himself, and it’s not like his father could just casually give him anything he asked.

( _He was not Itachi. He wasn’t a genius, which is why Fugaku hadn’t wanted to waste his time and effort on a spare son._ )

The thoughts return with a vengeance. Sasuke swallows, his mind whirring as he tries to look for a distraction—

( _But Fugaku is no longer here, so why should Sasuke stop himself from doing what he wants?_ )

...Sasuke could, couldn’t he? He could study fuuinjutsu for all he likes, without disapproval or disappointment from other people. All he would have is his own disappointment and his own memories to disapprove.

Without a word or a second thought, he stands up and makes his way to the library.

{ **metanoia** }

Sasuke has been camping in the library for days now. He’s researching on fuuinjutsu, which is, admittedly, a difficult and versatile subject to approach. He tried out a few beginner seals, but they all either exploded in his face or did nothing. Even the easiest seal, a one-way storage seal for chakra, is too hard for him to do.

( _“I expected better from you.”_ )

It’s frustrating. He doesn’t even know what he does wrong, following the instructions on the scrolls by heart. He guesses that it’s his shaky calligraphy, but it also could be his wonky chakra control. He resigns himself to practicing kanji for hours each day, not stopping until he perfects a character or three. Sasuke would train his control over his chakra, but considering that he doesn’t even know where to start, he puts it off and settles for his calligraphy instead.

As he delves further into the study, he finds his mind focused on it rather than the memories. He finds that welcome, devoting himself wholeheartedly into a field that he probably wouldn’t be good in, anyway. It’s still worth a try, he reasons to his mind.

( _It’s not like anyone is there to tell him to train something more important. It’s not like anyone is there to disapprove of him obeying his whims. It’s not like anyone is there to tell him off for distracting himself._ )

Sasuke is distracting himself, he knows that. He knows and accepts it. He’s distracting himself, but at least he’s being productive. At least he’s learning something new.

( _At least he’s learning something that he couldn’t have if his clan is still alive._ )

( _Is it bad that Sasuke prefers this rather than the time when his family is still living?_ )

{ **metanoia** }

  
Sasuke hates loops. The ones that keep something going on and on forever. One of those loops includes his nightmares, which seem to never end, no matter what Sasuke does to prevent them. Another includes the thoughts and memories that cycle about, triggered by almost everything he does.

Washing the dishes? (An uncle of his leaning on the counter, his throat slit and eyes glazed.) Sweeping the floor? (Blood on the cracks of the floorboards, unable to be removed no matter how much Sasuke scrubs at them.) Watering a plant? (An old lady turns to him, and she doesn’t even get a scream out as she drops dead among a field of tulips.)

What Sasuke hates the most, in his current situation, is fuuinjutsu loops.

There’s only two ways his fuuinjutsu would go. The first is that he writes a character that is not meant for loops, which causes his seal to explode at his face. The second is that he writes a character that is meant for loops, but at some point it goes wrongly and backfires.

Sasuke’s beginning to truly loathe loops.  
  


{ **metanoia** }  
  


By the end of the week, Sasuke finished the seal without any mistakes. His calligraphy has improved by leaps and bounds, and he’s proud of that. It’s also getting somewhat therapeutic to write down the different characters needed in fuuinjutsu.

( _Ha, therapeutic. Sasuke might as well give therapy to himself, because no one seems to have any plans giving him that._ )

By the end of the second week, he finally manages to create a one-way chakra storage seal, all perfectly set and done. The week’s grueling, especially since he doesn’t have anyone to show him how to actually put their chakra into the seal. The scrolls are even less helpful, because the Uchiha clan weren’t that keen on sealing.

Sasuke makes do with Kato’s half-scribbled notes, and he makes sure he does them well.

At the end of the month, Sasuke could do the basics of fuuinjutsu, even if he hasn’t mastered it yet. He allows himself a little celebration by making a tomato and cheese sandwich, even if he feels empty eating alone. He’s also celebrating the fact that he barely had any panic attacks when he had started studying.

Unfortunately, it was also at the end of the month when he received a letter from the academy.

( _They hadn’t even sent anyone to explain it to him. They just sent a letter, because Sasuke’s not that important to be talked to face-to-face._ )

( _It’s alright, though, because Sasuke is now used to doing things by himself._ )

It had been three months and two weeks since the Uchiha massacre. Sasuke thinks he’s well enough to function in the academy.

( _He hopes he is._ )

{ **metanoia** }

He arranges the notebooks in his backpack, taking a moment to go over his belongings. Notebooks? Check. Pens? Check. Books? Check. All set then, he thinks, preparing to zip it up. He catches sight of the scrolls and logbooks he’d been studying for the past few days, his hand faltering.

He hesitates for a bit, before deciding to take Cousin Kato’s experiment logbook into his bag. In all technicalities, bringing additional sources of information isn’t banned. The clans are the ones who disapprove of the act, since outsiders could take one and have insight into the clan’s techniques.

( _But with his clan gone and ten feet under, they couldn’t tell Sasuke off._ )

Sasuke pauses at the doorway, his hand shaking as he closes the door shut. He swallows, mustering up enough courage to go on, to move on, to try to get better.

At 7:38 am, he sets off for the academy, leaving his ( _dead_ ) clan’s compound behind.

_o_.

“Report.”

“Target is improving, but not by much. He’s had five panic attacks in the span of a week, Hokage-sama. One had led him into dyspnea. I don’t think he’s...” fit to be returned into the shinobi ranks.

A weary sigh. “We’ve gone over this, Inu.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”

“Anything else?”

“He’s visiting the houses in the compound and taking... things from them. He tried to practice shurikenjutsu a week ago, but he had a panic attack before he can even do so. He spends time reading in the library, to distract himself. Hokage-sama, the boy’s not going to get better this way.” if we don’t do anything about it.

“What do you suggest then, Inu?”

A pause. “He needs therapy. He needs to be placed in a positive environment, not living in the place where his family is killed and where the perpetrator used to live.”

A puff of smoke escapes Hiruzen’s mouth. “I know. I have made arrangements with Inoichi about handling Sasuke-kun. However,” the man sighs, “we cannot force him to leave the compound that he knows as home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I do not claim to be an expert in psychology or grieving in general. This fic isn’t intended for accurate psychological responses or analysis, but I prefer to keep things close to accurate. If any of you can point out mistakes in my work, please do so, it’s helpful :).
> 
> (2) After the massacre, Sasuke was in a coma for two (three?) weeks. I think he would’ve been unresponsive for a few weeks or so (Denial) after he woke up, so he was actually only conscious for around a month and a half.
> 
> (3) I haven’t actually lost anyone to death yet, but I’ve recently lost contact with a few people whom I’m close to, so I tried to portray that into writing.
> 
> (4) I’m not implying that Fugaku is a bad parent, but I feel that the constant comparison to Itachi would mess up with Sasuke’s head. Half of the stuff that Sasuke’s thinking might not even be what Fugaku intended, but that’s how he (Sasuke) perceives it.
> 
> (5) If any of you came from my MDZS fics, don’t worry, I’m still in the fandom and I will continue those works. I just can’t muster enough humor for the time being, so sorry for that :(.
> 
> (6) To the person who’s reading this, you are a very wonderful person and I hope you’d have a good day :).


End file.
